


Here We Are Again

by danceswithhamsters01



Series: Reddit Prompts [34]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, Memories, Where are they now?, Witch Hunt, missing a friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 10:20:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17486333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithhamsters01/pseuds/danceswithhamsters01
Summary: Based on a prompt from r/dragonage.Years have gone by since the Archdemon was slain. The Warden-Commander has heard rumors of a certain Witch of the Wilds being sighted in Ferelden. She decides to investigate things herself. A small trip down memory lane is just one of the things that take place once she reaches the Korcari Wilds.





	Here We Are Again

Visual prompt: <https://chainimage.com/images/fantasy-art-artistic-drawing-painting-dark-spooky-architecture.jpg>

 

The Warden-Commander and her mabari carefully followed the faint path through the swampy terrain, avoiding the deeper water when they could. In spite of it being summer, the Korcari Wilds was a frigid place most of the year. More than once, Fang, her hound, had to bark a warning, lest she carelessly wander into danger. The mage’s mind was bogged down in memories.

 

A handful of years ago, she had come to this place along with 3 other men; 2 other recruits and one full-fledged Grey Warden acting as their minder. Stopping by a familiar tree, near the site of her very first battle with darkspawn, she idly wondered if Sevarra the newly-Harrowed mage would recognize even a tiny part of herself in Sevarra the Warden-Commander, slayer of the archdemon, so on and so forth. She squeezed her eyes shut and sighed sadly. Even years later, Daveth’s passing still hurt to remember. It was something that came screaming to the surface every time one of her recruits did not survive their Joining. It was rare, but every name she sent on to Weisshaupt to be kept in the archives, every death notice she had to write to a failed recruit’s next of kin, ate at her and tore off the scab from that particular wound. He had been the first “normal” person to treat her like a person upon first meeting, offering a joke and a smile, rather than fear or mistrust. It had meant a lot, that simple act of acceptance.

 

A soft “woof” from Fang pulled the mage from her thoughts again. He’d found the trail. She trotted along, following the sure-footed beast. After Maker only knew how long she’d been jogging, ducking branches and side-stepping puddles, she came to a stop. There it was. That old rickety hut that Morrigan and her mother Flemeth had once upon a time called home. It still stood, more or less. The top-most branches of a tree peeked out from a hole in the roof. What had once been a whitewashed shack was now a green-mossy color from the moss and lichen that had taken up residence upon it.

 

The very first time she had laid eyes on the shack, it had been in better repair. She and her Warden-to-be companions had been guided there by a golden-eyed apostate calling herself Morrigan. The apostate’s mother, Flemeth, who later turned out to be the Flemeth of legend, had protected the Grey Warden Treaties they had been sent out to find, keeping the documents safe from the ravages of the elements and curious treasure hunters.

 

She slowly walked around what remained of the dwelling, biting her lip. The second time she’d seen this place, she’d woken up recovering from wounds that should have been fatal and delirious from dreams of darkspawn and archdemons. Unconsciously, the Warden laid a hand over her heart, over one of the scars she’d gotten from the fighting in the tower of Ishal. She laid comatose for a week while Flemeth and Morrigan had labored to save her life. During that time, Alistair had fallen into a pit of despair, mourning the Wardens who died at Ostagar and fearing she would join them in death so soon after her Joining.

 

She laid a hand on the door, uncertain if she wanted to push it open. The third time she had come to this place, she had been burning with what at the time felt like righteous anger. The young Warden had heatedly confronted Flemeth, asking the witch about her plans for Morrigan, trying, but ultimately failing, to get the truth from her. Morrigan had become her friend, someone who needed to be protected, even from her own mother, if need be. She hadn’t hesitated in fighting to keep her adopted brother, Jowan, safe from those who would’ve seen him made Tranquil. She didn’t hesitate in doing what she thought would be the best way to keep Morrigan safe and attacked the elder Witch of the Wilds. That had been the first time she’d seen a mortal change into a dragon. Dragon or not, the Warden had decided the witch had to die and saw to it. It had been a difficult and very painful battle, but a mabari, a golem, a mage, and one very exasperated knight had managed to slay the witch-turned-dragon.

 

Morrigan. Friend. Sister of the heart. Reports had made their way to Vigil’s Keep that the younger Witch of the Wilds had been sighted in the area in recent weeks. Sevarra didn’t know if they were true or not but had decided to investigate things herself. It had been years since the archdemon died, years since she’d last seen her sister. She missed her. Morrigan’s child was no doubt walking and talking by now. She wondered in what ways the little one took after their apostate mother and Warden-turned-king father. She wondered if the child Alistair would never meet was a daughter or a son.

 

Steeling her resolve, the mage pushed the door open and walked into the ruins of the shack. The shelves and their books were still intact, as were the chests, untouched save for rust and lichen crawling across any metal or wooden parts. Anything of readily apparent value, other than books, had no doubt been long since scavenged by wanderers.

 

Fang snarled and raised his hackles, standing in front of his mistress. In the blink of an eye, an elven woman in chain armor drew a weapon and pointed it at the mage.

 

“Not another step! What are you doing here!” the elf growled. Her face was tattooed with the markings she’d seen sported by members of the Dalish she’d encountered over the years.

 

Fang let loose another snarl, not letting the elf get any closer.

 

“Call off your hound, shem!”

 

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” the mage replied coolly. Her left hand rested idly on the haft of her staff, her magic quietly caressing and waking up the dormant energy locked in its channeling crystal, causing the gem to glow with a pale light.

 

Eyeing first the mage and then the hound, the Dalish woman sighed in disgust and sheathed her weapon. “Fine. I am Ariane, of the Dalish people. My keeper sent me to find Asha’bellanar—the Woman of Many Years.”

 

“It sounds like you seek Flemeth?” Sevarra asked with an arched brow.

 

“You know of her?”

 

“Yes. She saved my life during the Blight.”

 

Ariane blinked in confusion. “That’s not usually how the Flemeth stories go.” Gathering her composure, she continued. “We thought she could help us find her daughter, Morrigan. The young witch has caused trouble for my clan. Has she earned your ire as well?”

 

The mage tilted her head, pausing to consider her words. So the reports were true! Morrigan _had_ been seen in the area. She fought to keep the small bubble of excitement in her chest from giving her away.

 

“Morrigan is my friend. I am concerned for her,” the Warden said carefully.

 

Ariane’s eyes widened. “A friend? Of all the words associated with a Witch of the Wilds, those are the last I expected. Perhaps you can reason with her then.”

 

“Just want sort of trouble has she caused your clan?”

 

The elf went on to relay a story of an heirloom, a book, held by her clan for over a thousand years being stolen during a visit Morrigan had paid to the clan. The tome was a treatise about something called an “eluvian,” a word whose meaning had been lost to the Dalish for centuries. The story was followed by a plea for help.

 

Searching for magical lore lost to the ages? That certainly sounded like something Morrigan would do. It had been something of a hobby she and the Warden had cultivated in what little free time they had during the Blight, sharing scrolls and books relating to magic when they could. Knowing Morrigan, she probably had more reason for doing what she was doing than the simple quest for knowledge and thrill of reclaiming something thought lost or locked away. It would seem that the best bet for finding her friend would be to help this Dalish woman.

 

“Very well, I will help.”

 

The elf looked relieved. She then mentioned that the book in question had been purloined from the Circle of Magi long ago by a mage who had fled and been adopted into the Dalish people. That made the Warden smirk.

 

“Then we shall go and pay the Circle a visit. Perhaps we shall find clues in their library.”

 

“But they would never let a Dalish in to view such things!” Ariane replied in frustration.

 

“Oh, They’ll let us in. I grew up there. And they would look like complete ingrates if they denied the Warden-Commander’s guest entry. They owe me.”

 

“The w-- you’re… you’re… her? The mage who killed the archdemon?”

 

Sevarra rolled her eyes and snorted in amusement. “People seem to forget that the king, along with an entire army, was there, too. But yes, I was there when the damn thing finally died. Let’s get moving, the Circle is a week’s walk from here.”

 


End file.
